


Suicidal

by heatherswig



Category: Total Drama (Cartoon)
Genre: Action, Drama, Eventual Romance, Multi, Murder Mystery, Murder-Suicide, Mystery, Rewritten from my old FF.Net account!!, Romance, TW: Mentions of heavy topics, TW: Violence, tw: death, tw: language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherswig/pseuds/heatherswig
Summary: Heather had it all; a to-die-for clique, popularity - hell, her parents could buy out Wawanakwa High, each cent to be counted for with plenty left. So how was it that she was found dead on Thursday afternoon, her eyes that used to glint with mischief as dull as a stone? How was it possible that the 'It Girl' - the one any one wanted to be, the one every guy wanted to fuck, the one that nearly everyone would kill to overthrow - had jumped off a roof?The police write it off as suicide - no evidence, no murder weapon, no case - though some aren't so sure. Enter an unlikely band of teens; Alejandro, a heartthrob, Courtney, the class president, Bridgette, the nice one, Duncan, Geoff and DJ, who were lured in the mystery, Gwen and Trent, who know something is off and Leshawna, who's hiding something. Together, they begin to investigate, but the further they get hooked in, the harder it becomes to go back to before, and it becomes more clear that who drove - or worse, caused - Heather's death is willing to take action again.9 teens began as reluctant allies - however, it will all end with the earth-shattering truth of what happened that Thursday afternoon; was it murder? An accident? Or was she just... suicidal?
Relationships: Alejandro Burromuerto/Heather, Bridgette & Courtney, Bridgette/Geoff (Total Drama), Courtney/Duncan (Total Drama), DJ & Duncan & Geoff, Gwen/Trent (Total Drama), Heather & Courtney, Leshawna & Gwen
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	1. just a typical day at wawanakwa high

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's me again! I used to write on FF.Net (all stories I plan on rewriting and publishing here, don't even bother searching me up since the stories are so awful I can't even reread the summaries without having the overwhelming urge to delete anything and everything I've ever written), which is where the first version of this story can be found — same title by enamoreddoggo. Genuinely so embarrassing, I'm on my knees to not glance at my 12 year old self's writing! I am... disgusted. 
> 
> Enough about me bashing my old work, I am going to be working on this while in the middle of TDAS Rewritten, since as much as I love it, sticking with a script my followers have given me can be creatively challenging so this is kind of here to help me stay motivated! I apologize in advance if I write anything that can be triggering bad or if I represent anything awfully in general, I don't have any of the mental health issues that will be written about below and I am writing based off of media deceptions of it through books about overcoming these things. I hope they will do.
> 
> On another note, this story and another prompt (also on my old FF.Net account) have stuck with me ever since I watched TDI for the first time, so they're really special to me and any and all comments are appreciated! Please note this is a Gen. One story, so don't expect Zoey or Mike to be main characters; maybe a quick appearance here and there from other generations at best, but no guarantees. If I mess up any canon last names or family backstories, I am SO sorry but then again... I am SO lazy. 
> 
> Okay I swear I'm done, I hope you enjoy, sorry for killing off Heather in this first chapter though!

People had told Heather Hampton for years that you never knew when your life would end, so you should live it to your fullest — live in the moment, be kind, and other boring morals that were so similar to one another they were a gigantic blur. But Heather didn't really live by this rule — sure, she could be hit by a car or murdered at any moment, but people in general were awful. They were self-obsessed and judgmental and just plain rude, so why should she be nice to someone when as soon as she turned around, they would gossip behind her back? It was a terrible, useless cycle that Heather had neither the time nor patience for.

But here she was, as pathetic as it sounded, _crying_ as she bled to death. Everything had happened in a blur; Heather had been standing on her school's roof, and all of a sudden she was flailing her arms out, screaming at the top of her lungs as the ground crept closer and closer, until she landed on her back, the sound of her spine cracking painful to even hear.

Within the next few minutes, _pain_ , an emotion Heather couldn't even remember feeling, was all she felt. Her body hurt from all over, making it impossible to know where it began and ended. She was pretty sure her head was bleeding somewhere, she could feel her raven hair being damped with her own blood. She tried calling for help from somebody, anybody, for help, but her own voice sounded foreign to her, like she was being strangled.

And then, Heather Hampton began to shake. Slowly, a single tear raced down her (more than usual) pale cheek, until sliding off of her chin and landing not even an inch away from her. Not long after that, more tear drops began to follow suit. Heather hadn't cried since the seventh grade when her grandpa lost his battle to cancer, and it was such an awful feeling that she tried to stop. Refusing to have (what was sure to be) her last moments crying, Heather took a deep breath and willed herself to stop, her body shaking to prevent her tears from cascading down her cheeks even more, all while she made that annoying little gasping noise when you're trying to stop yourself from crying.

People also told Heather that when they thought they were going to die, they imagined their loved ones. Well, the same was true for Heather Hampton, though it was rumored that her heart was a cold, little black one, if she had one at all, but she did. Feeling her mother stroking her hair, her father tightly embracing her, her older sister's laugh, her best friend's love, her boyfriend's kisses pressed on her forehead... Heather Hampton shut her eyes one final time. 

* * *

_6:00 AM, Thursday Morning — Five Hours Before  
  
_

"Courtney, are you even listening to me?"

Glancing up from her cell phone, Courtney sighs and looks at her best friend after slipping her phone in her pocket. "Sorry, Heather, it's just that my parents left on _another_ business trip — again — and promised to text me when they'd be back, since all they'd left was a stupid note saying they were going to New York to meet with some super important client. It's sad, really."

Rubbing her friend's shoulder, Heather pouts her lips slightly, trying to be sympathetic for her friend's sake, though similar instances happened so frequently it could be aggravating to deal with. Regardless, the two girls looked out for each other, they always had and always would; it was one of the few things both girls were full heartedly confident in of their daunting future that lied ahead of them.

The two had a stereotypical story when it came to how they met — they were neighbors. Admittedly, when the Hamptons had first moved into the neighborhood, neither of the girls took much of a liking to the other; in fact, both ironically found the other too obnoxious to be in a close proximity with, let alone befriend. However, at the beginning of kindergarten when it was evident the other children were envious of their expensive dolls, the two teamed up to drive the other kids insane with jealousy — the rest was, as they say, history. Of course, as the school years went by, the two stuck together for so long because even as bratty as it sounded, it was as if no one could empathize with them better than each other; they knew what the other was going through without ever having to describe it. It was incredible, really, how they had been together for more than a decade and were still going strong; most friendships died in middle school, but not for Courtney and Heather.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Courtney asks. The two girls continue their walk to school, the cold, Canadian wind painting their cheeks a faint red.

"Well, remember Leshawna's huge party from December? I was thinking that while your parents are gone, we could totally out-do her party with the biggest party Wawanakwa has ever seen —" Heather begins, but only to be caught off by Courtney's baffled look.

"What? No way! I know your definition of a party, and there is absolutely no way I'm supplying my classmates with illegal drinks! And weed! And condoms! Because there is absolutely no way I am hosting a party with intoxicated kids having sex —"

"Oh my God, just shut up for a second, okay?” Heather interrupts the Hispanic. While her words have malice, her tone lacks viciousness, and she is even sporting a smile. “Don't worry, I'll do all that and bribe Geoff to find some of that stuff too — Geoff couldn't say no to a bottle of soda and a pack of sour candy for his life — and all _you'll_ have to do is have your house ready tomorrow night, 'kay?"

"Ugh, as if!" Courtney sneers, offended by the suggestion of it. "Just because my parents are away, there is no way I'm doing that —"

"Courtney, your parents are in _America_. The party's _tomorrow_. You know we won't just ditch you to clean everything up — well, at least everyone else _should_ , because they know I'll claw their eyes out if you get grounded for the first time ever," Heather snorts at the last part.

"Look, I ... I just don't know," Courtney admits. "What about we do like a small get-together? With just our classmates, and then a huge one at the end of the year, okay?"

Heather grunts, and playfully shoves her friend's shoulder. "God, you're so boring,"

Now it's Courtney's time to smirk. Shoving her friend back, Courtney can't keep the laugh out of her voice. "But you love me,"

"Whatever, now can we go over the guest list?" Heather groans.

Pulling out her phone to make a note of the list, Courtney nods. "Go ahead."

“There’s obviously the super hot hostess, and her even hotter best friend —” 

“Aw, you flatter yourself!” Courtney sarcastically interrupts. 

“We both know I’m right!” Heather teasingly smirks. “I’m hotter than Hell, c’mon, you already know this.”

“What a small, awfully humble ego!” Courtney retorts with a giggle. Scoffing, Heather flips a strand of hair behind her shoulder. “So? It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

Laughing, Courtney lets the subject drop. “So who else besides the really hot best friends is invited?”  
  
“Well, there’s Alejandro, Lindsay, and her jock boyfriend, Tyler, not to mention Geoff and Bridgette. Oh, and we should totally invite Lame-shawna, Weird Goth Girl and the Elvis guy that she's always making googly-eyes at, it’d _totally_ annoy them, and the more mischief, the merrier —”

“Wait, Gwen and Trent aren’t dating?” Courtney interrupts, confused. “I could’ve sworn they were ….” 

“Wow, Ms. Type A is _wrong_ about something? For once!” Heather exclaims with faux shock, complete with an entirely plastic and over dramatic gasp. “That has _got_ to be some type of record!” 

“Oh, shut it, Heather,” Courtney huffs, annoyed, but only a type of annoyance reserved for her best friend — the ability to be mad at her, but knowing she could never _truly_ be mad at her. 

“Whatever, but Gwen and Trent are just in that gross sappy stage where the tension is building up but they’re in denial. If they don’t act on those feelings soon, they’re going to graduate without going out with each other like, once I swear to God — if _one_ of them doesn't make a move soon, please gag me.”

“Sure, Ms. Slow-burn,” the Hispanic teases with a grin. “Please, you and Alejandro were beating around the bush since practically middle school. You guys became official, what, two years ago?”  
  
“As if you’re the one to talk! You and Duncan have been dancing around each other since daycare. _Daycare,_ Courtney. We’re seniors now! Plus, I’m pretty sure you two practically _undress_ each other just by glaring at the other. You’re basically heads over heels but your pride and ego is in the way!”

“Me and _Duncan?_ ” Courtney sneers in disgust, shaking her head back and forth so fast it was a miracle she hadn’t pulled a muscle. She prayed her Asian friend would think of the blush on her cheeks from the bitter Canadian winds. “ _Please_ , as if! When pigs fly! I actually have standards, you know —” 

“You know what you two need to do, Courtney?" Heather interrupts, not caring for what her friend had to say — after all, she had heard this same rant multiple times in just slightly various forms that Heather wasn't sure if Courtney had memorized a speech the length of a film or had begun to unintentionally recite it whenever whatever it was she felt for Duncan was questioned. If Heather heard it one more time, she was sure her brain would start oozing out of her ears in pure frustration, or better yet, just shove Duncan and Courtney together in a room for 24 hours and let fate take care of itself — that was sure to be enough. "Just swallow back your pride and make out, even have sex, whatever. Will do you and everyone good, do you even know how tedious it becomes listening to you two bicker _all the time?_ ” 

“ _Heather!_ ” Courtney shrieks, clamping her hand over her best friend’s mouth. “God, you sound insane, don’t you know that?” Then, in a lower and more cautious tone, Courtney continues, “ _What if someone had heard?_ One of these days I am going to shave your head clean if you run your mouth like that again...." 

Courtney began to frantically whip head around the neighborhood to spot any lurking witnesses to their conversation — however, as it was only a little after 6 in the morning, the only witness was a fat ginger cat that laid lazily across a porch swing, in between his consciousness and subconsciousness, meters away on the porch of one of the large houses in the neighborhood.

Smirking, (not that Courtney could see it,) Heather gingerly grabs the hand over her mouth and pulls it away, still smiling her usual shit-eating smirk. “Can I continue the guest list now?”

Courtney gives her friend a single, silent nod, willing her to continue — _anything_ to move past the embarrassing conversation that had just taken place (though it had served as incredible entertainment to Heather).

“Good! So me, you, Alejandro, Geoff, Bridgette, Leshawna, Lindsay, Gwen, Tyler, Trent, DJ and Duncan … maybe we should just do everyone in homeroom? It’s always been the same people since, like, sixth grade, yet Lindsiot still _somehow_ manages to forget everybody’s names…” 

“Didn’t you want the bigger party?” Courtney questions. 

Shrugging, Heather pulls a pack of gum to avoid looking Courtney in the eye. “Whatever, you didn’t want one this time around, so we aren’t having one. But don’t think the graduation party isn’t going to be huge, because trust me, _it is._ We're going _all_ out,"

“Whatever you say,” Courtney teases her friend, smiling. 

“No, I’m serious, if I die before we throw the biggest party to outdo Leshawna’s, then I am _seriously_ going to haunt the hell out of you until and even _after_ you die, you understand me?” 

Courtney’s laughs only increase at the flustered attempt of insulting her on the fly. To most people, it would have seemed like a smooth and well thought out jab, but Courtney knew better, since, after all, no one knew the girls better than each other. 

“You shouldn’t say that!” Courtney scolds between giggles, though she doesn’t seem to care too much at the moment. “What if a car just drove right into you right then? Or some ax murderer chopped your head clean off before I could blink? What then?”

With a shameless and unapologetic shrug, Heather smirks before giving Courtney the answer she wasn’t expecting — but at this stage, Courtney really should have expected the answer she got. 

“See you six feet under, Court!"  
  
Both girls laugh at this as they continue their walk to Wawanakwa High — or what they called their personal prison — having no idea how real the words would soon become. 

* * *

_11:50 AM, Thursday Mid-Morning — Minutes Before_

Duncan Nelson was silently counting down the minutes until lunch (Nine minutes and 27 seconds — who knew math would be useful for _something?_ ), the period he could wreak havoc with his closest friends, DJ and Geoff. Of course, there was (roughly) ten minutes of the period left, and he could totally slip away, undetected, from Mr. Johnson, who was in such a distracted state he had poured orange juice in his coffee — apparently he was going through his third divorce from the past six years, according to Sierra Pierce, the school's biggest gossip — but if he did that, it wouldn’t be _nearly_ as satisfying as getting under his lab partner’s skin.

Turning back to what his lab partner, Courtney Castillo, was babbling about, Duncan kicks his feet up on the lab table, ignoring Courtney’s disapproving glare. While Duncan was unsurprisingly being entirely unhelpful during the entire period, Courtney was in the middle of removing the required safety equipment they had to wear while getting lost in another one of her tangents on how Duncan was the worst lab partner on the planet, even stooping so low as to proclaim him as the worst person she had ever met. 

“... I mean, _seriously_ , Duncan, I asked you to do _ONE_ thing, which was to put some equipment away, but apparently Mr. Juvenile can’t lift them up!”  
  
“I can lift them, I just don’t want to,” Duncan points out to the other, who huffs in irritation. 

“Look, I know your ‘thing’ or whatever is to act all tough, but putting away supplies isn't going to be the end of your 'reputation.'" Courtney says, emphasizing her words in a heavy layer of sarcasm and annoyance. "You're just being a displeasure, _as usual._ ” Courtney says, pulling her brown hair out of a ponytail. “You may think you’re a bad guy, but we all know you’re not. You’re just a huge softie with a lot of brawn.”

“So you’ve been checking me out?” Duncan questions with his usual smirk reserved for the Hispanic, eager to get his favorite, flustered reaction out of her, but unfortunately she did not deliver; she must have seen his trick coming.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” She mutters as she starts putting her lab papers back in her binder in a pristine manner. “Everyone remembers when you lifted Owen upside down at the top of the diving board during the field trip at the pool in, like, sixth grade.”

Silently pouting at his lack of an amusing reaction out of Courtney, Duncan sighs and leans back further on his chair, nearly falling over (which causes Courtney to roll her eyes, which Duncan considered a small win for the day). Geoff Brooks and DJ Kennedy snicker at their friend’s failed attempt at entertainment from behind Duncan, to which the juvenile turns around and gives his friends an unamused scowl that would shut anyone else up, but not them. 

Just then, a loud burp and fart combination brings everyone in the classroom’s attention to a single boy in the corner of the room, with his girlfriend, Izzy Carter, as his lab partner. Owen Davies, the culprit of the stench, chuckles nervously — one of his _many_ habits. 

“Sorry, guys!” Owen apologizes. “My bad!” 

The class — or, quite frankly, the entire grade — was used to this routine, and as soon as the words began to leave Owen’s mouth, everyone had already diverted their attention elsewhere; all except for Izzy, that is. 

“Woah, Big O, that was _so_ sick!” Izzy giggles. “That so reminded me of this one family reunion where my twice removed’s came, and my great uncle twice removed —”

“Oh, God no, not another story about your twice removed side of your family — _again_.” Noah Sharma, the grade’s sarcastic know-it-all, groaned from the table next to Izzy and Owen’s. "I'm surprised my brain cells haven't killed themselves the first thirty times you've told a story about your twice removeds."

“Aw, come on, I haven’t even started the story!” Izzy whines. “Don’t you want to learn how my great uncle twice removed lost an eye during our annual Nerf gun wars at the reunion?”

“Do I want to know?” Owen peeps out, concerned, but is ignored by both Noah and Izzy. 

“See, this is the kind of weird shit I’m talking about!” Noah complains. “No one wants to hear about what’s sure to be a mentally scarring story about your relative that’s about to be on their deathbed —”

“Owen, you’ll listen to Izzy’s story, right?” Izzy interrupts Noah, (who rolls his eyes) while giving Owen a severe case of puppy eyes. Sighing, Owen nods silently, and reminds himself not to eat any food afterwards (which, for Owen, was easier said than done), to prevent his inevitable urge to throw up afterwards. However, Izzy excitedly continues on with her story, while Noah just makes a silent prayer for the victim of Izzy’s storytelling before continuing his cleanup of his science table.

Meanwhile, Katie Jones and Sadie Brown, two best friends who had been annoyingly inseparable since they could crawl, were busy swooning over Justin Philips instead of cleaning their own workspace. The aforementioned Eye Candy was working with Lindsay Moore, the ditzy but stunning blonde, to clean up their lab area, but were struggling. (Justin didn’t want any unwelcome germs to threaten his future modeling career, as his tan skin was "one of his long list of dazzling features" while Lindsay had _just_ gotten her nails done and there was _no way_ she’d be chipping her Bubblegum Bitch pink nail polish just yet!) Regardless of the pair’s stupidity, both girls continued swooning from afar, practically drooling as well.

“When Justin and I get married, we’re so going to be the cutest couple around!” Katie smiled dreamily, unintentionally drawing a heart around her own initials and Justin’s in her science notebook, all over her data from the lab that she had spent the entire hour making with her favorite and most expensive markers and glitter pens.

Her remark causes her counterpart to narrow her eyes enviously, no doubt about to fight for her crush’s honor. “Um, what? Who said _you_ were going to marry Justin?”

“Um, I did?” Katie responds, her hands now on her hips and a jealous scowl on her face. Both girls weren’t paying attention to Justin anymore, but rather their fight over his hand in marriage.

“Please, me and Justin would have the _cutest_ babies together!” Sadie snaps.

“With _your_ genes? _As if!_ ” Katie half-snickers, half-scoffs in retort. “Everyone knows I’m the prettier one!”  
  
Sadie gasps so largely a whole watermelon could fit in her mouth.

"Stephanie Susanne Phillips and Jeffree James Thomas Phillips are listening in heaven, or wherever it is they're at, right now, that their own _godmother_ would suggest that they wouldn't be born! Or cute, which FYI, they _totally_ are!"

The two make no further comments and end up just fiercely glaring at each other, each making a noise that greatly resembles the growl of a dog; things were about to get ugly, and fast.

However, unlike the rest of their classmates, two pairs were actually following their directions and cleaning. Harold McGrady and his not-so-subtle crush, Leshawna Owusua, were cleaning in a comfortable silence, both eager to get to lunch. On the opposite side of the spectrum, however, were Cody Anderson and Sierra Pierce. Cody was awkwardly putting supplies away, trying to ignore his partner’s stares of bliss whenever Cody was even in her peripheral vision — let alone when she actually made _eye contact_ with him! Sierra was unintentionally invading Cody’s space, while Cody prayed the bell would ring sooner. 

Not too far away from either of the previously mentioned groups, Eva Allen and Ezekiel Tryniski, a duo of rejects who would never choose to cross paths if they had their way, were sitting down and trying not to kill the other — meaning Eva had to restrain herself from throttling Ezekiel. She was currently yelling at him with one of her more common insults reserved for the scrawny boy, which consisted of her telling Ezekiel to grow some brains on his family’s farm. 

It was just a typical day at Wawanakwa High, after all. 

However, the duo with the most bad blood was easily the most entertaining; beating Duncan and Courtney’s love you/hate you relationship, Noah’s sanity being tested, and Katie and Sadie’s petty catfights — no, the center of drama this period were Heather and Beth, who were having an incredibly heated argument about Lord-knows-what. 

Despite the fact Beth despised Heather, she just couldn’t say no to her and face her wrath afterwards. Instead, Beth would hopelessly obey whatever command Heather gave her — she knew it was pathetic, but she couldn't help it! — usually with the horrid nickname “Bitch” following suit, one that she earned in the seventh grade when she locked lips with Harold in a janitor’s closet, effectively cheating on her playground boyfriend, Brady, who had moved to San Francisco the week earlier — in her defense, Beth totally thought Harold had a thing for her! 

“Hey, Bitch, is it?” Heather asks in a plain, monotonous voice while filing her nails. “Can’t you clean up this shit faster? I am not being late to lunch because of some little nerdling like you!” 

“If you want to clean up faster, then how about _you_ do it?” Beth snaps without even thinking. Despite the fact that it was only a quick and rather harmless remark, the majority of the class stops their cleaning and conversation, gasping and gawking at the inevitable fight about to go down — after all, _nobody_ talked back to Heather, especially not spineless outcasts like Beth. 

However, the only exceptions were Leshawna whooping and Gwen Willows smirking a little from her lab table, glad Heather was getting a bite of karma, even if it was a little and only from Beth. That and, of course, some of the guys snorting, sure the catfight of the year was about to happen in front of them, just _minutes_ before lunch — it was practically a dream come true!

“Take it back,” Heather says slowly and venomously. The girl has stopped filing her nails and is giving a withering glare that makes Beth squirm in her seat, but she doesn’t back down.

“No.” Gasps echo the room, but Mr. Johnson still continued to stir the same cup of orange juice and coffee combination as he had for the past hour, spacing out.

“Listen, Bitch, I don’t think you understand,” Heather said softly and dangerously, and while she was only whispering, everyone can hear her. “I run things around here. I can make your life _miserable_ here as easily as you went around kissing Harold in seventh grade —”

“I was _thirteen!_ ” Beth exclaims. “Let it go!”

“Cheating is low, even for ugly horse girls like yourself. You had a popular boyfriend who could've done _much_ better than you, but chose not to! And yet you still cheated on him with a guy who didn’t even like you, so—”

Heather is silenced when an eraser is bounced off her cheek, effectively silencing her. One of her hands flies up to her cheek, and the class’s eyes fly to Beth’s extended hand — _she had just tossed an eraser at Heather!_

The Asian laughs slowly after recovering from the temporary shock that Beth had tossed an eraser at her — she admittedly hadn't been expecting that, especially from some rat like Beth who's side ponytail made Heather want to leap off of a thousand foot cliff into a ring of sharks. “That’s cute, you think you could beat me in a fight? Do you _really_ want this? It’s a waste of both of our time, since you’re basically committing social suicide.” 

“You think you’re so powerful, but you’re really not,” Beth counters. “I bet I could beat you any day.”

"Yeah, well, majority of the class isn't," Duncan proclaims loudly in a monotonous tone, shuffling a stack of cash in one of his hands while fist-bumping Geoff with the other. "Anyone want to make a last minute bet?"  
  
Both girls narrow their eyes at the other, waiting for the other to strike, ignoring Duncan and Geoff quietly placing bets on who they thought would crush the other; Heather was winning by majority, though neither girls comment on this. 

“Guys, come on, stop,” Bridgette Taylor steps in between the two girls, though it is surprising it took so long for someone to step in. “The bell is going to ring in a minute, and we’re all hungry as hell, so just don’t, all right?”  
  
Both looked like they needed a bit more convincing to not pounce on the other. This time, Trent Franklin, the guy everyone got along with (even the most unlikable people), stepped in with Bridgette. “Just drop it, all right? You don’t want to spend after school in detention, do you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, Heather,” Courtney convinces her friend, now with Bridgette and Trent. “Let’s just go to lunch, alright?”

“God, you’re all such wimps!” Duncan exclaims, annoyed he didn’t get to see what was sure to be an enjoyable cat fight unfold. “Take the poles out of your asses — _especially you, Princess_ — and just sit back and enjoy Beth getting whipped by Heather in less than a minute.”

“Hey!” Both Beth and Courtney exclaim, though for entirely different reasons. Courtney grabs her pencil case and knocks Duncan over the head with it, pleased when he shut himself up.

“Oh, whatever.” Heather scoffs, turning around to stalk out of the room. “This isn’t over, Bitch. Just clean our stuff up. Oh, and while you’re at it, go buy a better personality and get plastic surgery! Maybe then people might actually be able to stand you; Lord knows you’ll need it....” 

The bell rings seconds afterwards, and the class begins to file out, leaving Beth to clean the mess, with Leshawna, Trent and Gwen, who stuck around to help — and not to forget Mr. Johnson was still staring out in space, now with his entire tie submerged in his drink. 

"For the record," Duncan shouts from the hallway to any and everyone from his last class that could hear him, "No refunds! I'm keeping this cool, hard cash!"  
  
"For what, the next time you need money to bail out of juvie or jail?" Geoff says with a laugh.

"You know it!"

* * *

_12:00 AM, Thursday Afternoon — The Incident_

"Yo, Courtney!"

Rolling her eyes, the Hispanic girl turns around at the mention of her name. Angrily pressing the _End Call_ button on her cell phone, she whips her head around to look at the man who called her name. She had just tried contacting her parents — again — but to no avail. Upon making eye contact with them, her face softens slightly, but she's just as annoyed.

"What is it, Geoff?" Courtney asks as patiently as she can muster.

"You sittin' with us today?" Geoff asks, tossing a football in the air from his gym class earlier in the day; that he had stolen with the help of his friend, Duncan, no doubt.

Biting her lip, Courtney glances around the hallway, as if searching for someone to whisk her away from the conversation. "Look, Geoff, I'd love to, but no offense, your friends are kind of, um ... rowdy."

Laughing, Geoff stops tossing his football and raises an eyebrow at her, obviously not believing Courtney.

Grunting, Courtney obliges to Geoff's silent question. "Okay, fine, I just don't want to deal with Duncan right now!"

"Wait, you're serious?" Geoff questions, barely containing a laugh. "Courtney, Ms. Almighty, Class President, 'I Was A CIT' royalty can't handle _Duncan_ for _one_ lunch period? You're shitting me, right?"

Glaring at the blond teenager, Courtney scowls. "Well, I wouldn't have a problem sitting with everyone at Heather's "popular" table or whatever — though eating lunch in the library is _so_ much more peaceful —"

"Which has _got_ to stop!" Geoff interrupts. "Mocha, it's senior year! Don't you want to spend it with all your best buds?"

"— But that stupid juvenile is always making crude jokes! He's so vile, how can anyone stand him? Oh, no offense, Geoff."

"None taken!" Geoff chirps gleefully. "And if it helps, Bridge has already said you're coming, no matter what, and I haven't seen Heather since Science, so you pretty much have no choice,"

Sighing, Courtney allows herself to continue walking with Geoff. The two were _very_ unlikely friends, but it was impossible to be annoyed by Geoff, no matter how much Courtney found herself wanting to come to the opposite realization — not when he cheered too loudly at a local Olive Garden at a graduation dinner Courtney hosted in eighth grade, not when he hosted a party in her backyard at 2AM (on a _school night!_ ) without a shred of permission, not even when he showed up to meeting her parents (as a friend, of course! The Castillos insisted on meeting everyone Courtney acquainted herself with, to deem them worthy or unworthy of their daughter's time, and Geoff had miraculously charmed his way through the meeting.) a little tipsy on something. While Courtney found it impossible to hate Geoff, Geoff found it impossible to hate anyone whatsoever — plus, the nickname 'Mocha' and the fact Geoff was Bridgette's long-term boyfriend probably helped as well. "What did happen to Heather, anyway?"

Shrugging, Geoff pauses to think. "I dunno, I haven’t seen her since she blew up at Beth in Science and stormed out. Maybe she went to her locker or something,"

Not thinking much of it, Courtney lets the subject go. "Alright, let's go before all the good salads are taken! With Chef's awful cooking, I've pretty much taken a vegetarian diet at school, and I am _not_ going to survive another Mystery Meat Thursday, I swear to God..."

* * *

“What’s up, dudes?” Geoff asks, approaching the table with Courtney next to him. Both teenagers were balancing a lunch tray with the school’s healthiest, organic options; at Wawanakwa High, it was worth it to eat the same salad everyday than to risk getting food poisoning from the hamburgers and hot dogs their Chef made fresh daily (or so he claimed). 

“Nothing much,” Alejandro admits. “Courtney, you’re sitting here today?”

"Unfortunately," Courtney bitterly mutters.  
  
“Yep!” Geoff says with a grin, sliding into the seat across from Alejandro, with Courtney plopping her bag next to the blonde. “Just waiting for Bridge, Deej, Duncan and Heather, I think,”

Directly in the center of the cafeteria sat the most popular kids in the grade; Heather, the Queen Bee, her boyfriend, Alejandro, Geoff, who threw the best parties, Courtney, the Class President and Heather's best friend, (though she only sat at the table occasionally), DJ and Duncan, Geoff's closest friends who were most known for DJ's kindness and Duncan's ability to get under any and everyone's skin, and Bridgette, Geoff's well-liked girlfriend. At first glance, it was a random odd group for the most popular seniors, but they somehow worked.

“I still don’t understand how you can stand Duncan,” Courtney mutters, poking a plastic spork in the salad in front of her. “Knowing him, he’s probably showing off that video of him making Harold pee his pants to DJ for the millionth time like it’s some goddamn trophy.”

“Well, it _is_ pretty funny,” Geoff admits with a shrug before downing a large gulp of chocolate milk. 

“He has a point,” Alejandro says honestly. “There’s just something so funny about Harold peeing his pants thanks to that cup prank that’s incredibly satisfying.”

Courtney grunts in a joking disbelief at the two (though it could be actual disbelief, you could never know for sure with Courtney), but lets it go. “Typical yet still unbelievable.”

Before either boys could respond, Duncan and DJ showed up and sat themselves down — Duncan across from Courtney, DJ next to Geoff — and greeted their friends — DJ’s usual polite greeting, Duncan’s nod of acknowledgement and wink in particular to Courtney, to which she rolls her eyes at in disgust.

“Have either of you guys seen Heather or Bridgette?” Courtney questions the new arrivals. Both shrug and shake their heads ‘ _no_ ’, before grabbing cheesy fries from the small basket at the center of the table that they had brought with them. 

“Figured Malibu and Queenie went with you,” Duncan says, now reaching forward to grab a napkin.

Courtney bites her lip slightly to keep herself from worrying unnecessarily, but can’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t normal. 

However, Courtney’s worries are for nothing when her blonde friend shows up and slides next to her, plopping her school bag on the floor and pulling out her lunch box with a reusable sandwich container, holding her usual PB&J sandwich.

“Hey, guys,” Bridgette greets in her usual calming voice. “Have you guys seen the people rushing outside? I haven’t seen people run so fast since last year when Chef Hatchet was our substitute for gym and had us do one of his war training exercises for class.”

“No, what’s happening outside?” Alejandro asks, biting down on a fry of his own.

Shrugging, Bridgette takes a bite out of her sandwich. After swallowing, she shrugs again before answering the question. “Dunno. I didn’t check since I was already late . Maybe we just got a restock on potato chips, I’d run for that too,”

“Well, if that’s the case, there’s no way all the good flavors are going before I get my hands on them,” Duncan snarls. “Come on, let’s go.”

Courtney wrinkles her nose. “No, thanks. Chips are gross.”

“On what planet?” Geoff mutters, scratching the back of his head. 

“C’mon, Courtney, it won’t even be five minutes,” Bridgette convinces. Sighing, Courtney wordlessly gets up and follows, and the group leaves the cafeteria and walks towards the front entrance of the building, where their classmates were clustered. 

However, stepping on the sidewalk outside, the group comes to the realization that there were no chips. No, there laid Heather Hampton, surrounded by a swarm of confused, panicked and tearful students; there laid the It-Girl, the Queen Bee, the one everyone wanted to be. 

There Heather Hampton was, dead; it was just a typical day at Wawanakwa High, after all.


	2. what a sad, beautiful tragic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a simple, typical day at Wawanakwa High, a building of bland and tasteless slop, a questionable staff, scaringly stereotypical students, and, of course, cliques. Emphasis on the word was, though — Heather Hampton, the ringleader of the key clique at school, was found dead on Thursday afternoon, with a damp stain of blood in her once flawless head of raven hair. Who had done this? And why? Or was it all just a horrible, coincidental accident? Or even worse (or better, no one could be too sure), had Heather Hampton jumped, thus sealing her own fate?
> 
> Her remaining classmates, friends, and enemies alike don't know what to believe; the police assure them it was suicide, but something isn't sitting quite right. What started as a conspiracy of her mysterious death begins to bloom into a full-on investigation as Gwen, Trent, and Leshawna's suspicions begin to spiral out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that I'm literally writing this as I go along, like I kind of have an idea of how the ending is going to turn out, and I hope that I'm not rushing all of this too far along. Also Gwen/Trent/Leshawna is a super underrated friendship?? They're probably my favorite dynamic to write since they all have brain-cells but at the same time are so done with everyone else and are also complete dumbasses. Absolute legends.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and as always, any and all comments are really appreciated!

_Was it murder? An accident? Or was she just...  
_ **SUICIDAL**

* * *

_PREVIOUSLY ON_ SUICIDAL:

_However, stepping on the sidewalk outside, the group comes to the realization that there were no chips. No, there laid Heather Hampton, surrounded by a swarm of confused, panicked and tearful students; there laid the It-Girl, the Queen Bee, the one everyone wanted to be._

_There Heather Hampton was, dead; it was just a typical day at Wawanakwa High, after all._

* * *

Upon the entry of the dead girl’s closest friends, the whispering ceased, but the occasional sniffle was all that kept the group from being in an unbearable silence; the moment of pure silence made the air uncomfortable and difficult to breathe steadily in, as the world seemed to have stopped as the classmates watched the group’s eyes widen with realization.

As quickly as it stopped, the world seemed to crash down on everyone in a fraction of a second. 

“Oh my god, what happened? Who did this to her?” Courtney yelled to no one in particular, falling on her knees next to the corpse of her best friend. “ _She can't be dead!_ ” The Hispanic shrieks as tears were already falling down her cheeks. It became apparent to the surrounding teenagers that Courtney was a very, for lack of a better word, _clingy_ crier, and was sobbing so heavily, her chest heaved with each rattling gasp, each one like the life had been sucked out of her. Her eyes seemed to become waterfalls not even a full thirty seconds later; it became very obvious to her peers why Courtney never shed a single tear in front of anyone in her life — Courtney was an ugly crier and had already become desperate as she clung onto the dead body of her best friend like it was the only thing keeping her on the ground. Though no one would admit it to her face, it was a rather hard sight to watch, such a bold girl crumble like wet gingerbread in the span of less than a minute. 

For a moment, everyone is silent as they watch the brunette go into hysterics the longer Heather Hampton didn’t wake up. Eventually, Courtney tries to stop crying and just tuck a strand of hair behind the corpse’s ear but has to stop a sob from escaping her throat when she realizes a part of her head is damp with a bit of blood. She's sent into even more hysterics and grips the Asian even tighter than before, and everyone has the silent and mutual agreement that seeing Courtney cry almost seemed like an invasion of privacy — she was well-aware (or at least, they assumed she was,) that she was sobbing in front of her entire grade, but Courtney had only responded to hurt with nothing but fiery anger; no matter how frustrated or upset the brunette became, tears were unfamiliar to her eyes as they were never brimmed with tears, but instead filled with boiling bubbles of rage. Her cheeks would become fire and her eyes would make some squirm in their seats like worms, but no matter how hurt she was, she _never_ gave in to crying; seeing all that burn and crumble so easily was so alien. 

When it was becoming more clear that Courtney wouldn’t leave the deceased body until somebody dragged her away, someone did just that. A pair of hands attempt to gently pull the brunette away from the dead girl, but once Courtney realizes what the person was attempting, she slaps the hands away harshly, leaving the hands stinging but firmer than before. Two more pairs join the first and slowly peel the Hispanic off the dead Asian. 

“Let _GO_ of me!” Courtney screams, bringing her fist down wherever she could with as much strength as she could muster. Eventually, she just tired herself out and allowed herself to be dragged away, and in a moment of pure misery, she wraps her arms around the torso of the first person who had grabbed hold of her, who hesitatingly patted her back in response. Duncan tried to ignore the stares that his classmates were giving him for comforting his alleged enemy, but they were starting to make his cheeks go on fire. 

As Courtney was hysterically blowing snot canons into Duncan’s shirt, (which was admittedly gross, though nobody could blame her,) Alejandro just felt alarmingly numb. All he saw was the dead body in front of him, and his mind allowed no other thought besides the desperate one; _This couldn’t be real._

His _reina_ , the woman he had considered the love of his life (as sappy as it was, though he would _never_ admit that to anyone ever, especially now that she was as good as gone), would never be able to hold his hand again, smile at him, pepper him with her kisses … the loneliness of it all became too much to bear. He would have to live whatever and however long was left of his life without her by his side, and possibly with someone _else_ by his side. Sure, they might make him smile and laugh, but he just knows that the whole time he'd be wishing it was her instead. He'd selfishly be wishing that Heather would be right there with him for the rest of his life, a life he had no interest in living out without her —

— but instead, she was here, lying on the cold, hard ground, no trace of life she had lived left behind. Alejandro knew it was stupid, really, to have had such high hopes and dreams for the future and to never say anything about _wanting_ to be more serious — _God, why hadn't he said anything?_ _—_ but he just never imagined there would be a last kiss; and now any remains of the future he cherished with his entire heart was torn away so easily. It was ironic, really, how the Womanizer, of all people, had fallen for the Queen Bee, but he really had, and now there would be no opportunity to tell her ever again.

It was awful timing, really, but all Alejandro could help but notice of the corpse was how beautiful Heather still looked, even deceased. Her gray eyes had a distant look, and while the sparkle of life was dulled, her beauty was still there. Alejandro moves to close her eyes but ends up cupping his dead lover’s face, his hand traveling down to her neck, where there was no pulse — which wasn’t at all surprising, but nevertheless disappointing. Sighing, Alejandro stands up before storming away from the curious eyes of his peers, willing himself not to cry in front of them. Maybe his girlfriend had fallen off a roof, but he refused for his dignity to go down with her. 

Anyone with a pair of eyes knew that Alejandro was nowhere near fine — and wouldn't be for a while — but for his, or to be more accurate, _Heather's_ , sake, they allowed him to pretend he was. They simply watched his retreating figure storm back inside, slamming the doors so hard they bang right into the wall; there might've been a small crack left in the plaster where the door had slammed into the wall at full force. 

DJ couldn't help but watch helplessly. He knew he wasn't in as much pain as Courtney or Alejandro, but damn, in all his life he had never found his heart to experience so much pain at once. It was nowhere near as bittersweet as movies made it out to be; nothing about the scene in front of him left a crumb of sweetness on his tongue — all he felt was sour. It all felt unfair, in a sense, that Heather had been alive and breathing one minute and as still as a September evening the next. 

Geoff and Bridgette clung onto each other, both at a loss for words at the scene in front of them. Geoff had known Heather since he moved from Toronto at the ripe age of thirteen, while Bridgette had known Heather ever since the two began school. Heather, Bridgette, and Geoff were not the closest out of the friend group when you compared their relationship to Courtney or Alejandro's, but seeing her lifeless body be sprawled on the cement in front of Wawanakwa High was jarring, really, of how Wawanakwa wasn't a perfectly safe bubble with nothing but good times and memories. It was a town that was made up of generations of families who wanted something bigger, something _better_ than what Wawanakwa had to offer but at the end of the day, their town had its imprint on each citizen, hypnotizing them into staying as soon as one could take in the bitterness of the cold, Canadian winds. Heather's corpse laid there, as a silent but deadly reminder, that no matter how tall your throne is, how bedazzling and addicting your crown is to look at, how many people bask in your glory —

It was a reminder that no matter how regal the Queen Bee, she would _always_ come toppling off of her throne.

* * *

After storming inside, Alejandro had spaced out as his feet dragged him throughout the empty hallways, occasionally passing a classroom of students who were clueless of the events happening outside — Alejandro envied them. Eventually, he was face to face with the staircase leading up to the roof, the very roof Heather had fallen from. Alejandro would have normally walked right past the stairwell, ignoring it and what it meant, but standing at the bottom of the stairwell was Leshawna Owusua, Heather's greatest rival. Alejandro's eyes instantly narrowed into slits upon realizing she had just descended from the roof herself. 

"Leshawna," Alejandro declared, capturing the other's attention. She immediately began to look around for an escape but was unable to back out of the conversation. 

"What do you want, Alejandro?" She questioned with an exasperated tone and overdramatic eye roll.

"What did you do to her?" Alejandro hisses, approaching Leshawna with a clenched jaw. 

"Excuse me? What exactly did I do to who?" Leshawna raises her eyebrows, now crossing her arms with a look that screams 'this better not waste my time'.

" _I know you killed her!_ " Alejandro snaps, his cheeks red with anger. Normally, Alejandro's emotions were so collected and held at a distance that some were unsure if he even knew how to feel, but his accusations were fierce and lashed at Leshawna like a whip that she was careful to avoid.

"What the...?" Leshawna trails off, feeling herself paling and her eyes widening. "I didn't kill no one! And _who's_ dead? Let me guess, your remaining shreds of common sense? Well, sorry to disappoint ya, sister, but that's on _you,_ not me!"

"Bitch," Alejandro spits, his eyes aflame with nothing short of fury. "You know exactly what you did," He sneers, his face contorting with disgust. "I bet you're so proud, huh? You probably think you got away with it, too, but I'm not dumb Leshawna, I know _exactly_ what went down and I _will_ prove it to everyone in this damn school so you get sent away for killing her, do you get it?" 

Leshawna begins backing away once she contemplates how close Alejandro was and how furious he looked — if she said the wrong thing, she had no doubt he wouldn't hesitate to break a bone or two. 

"Alejandro," Leshawna begins, hesitatingly reaching out a shaking hand to shield herself from an expected outburst. "Slow down — you're making no sense. What happened? And _who's_ dead?"

"Heather," He answers, his eyes brimming with tears, and Leshawna noticed his lip trembled slightly while his hands were visibly shaking even more than before.

Leshawna's hand flies to Alejandro's shoulder, immediately giving in to the urge to comfort him. Leshawna had always had the motherly love, even at a young age, and it didn't matter to her who was hurting, she just had to make them feel better. It was just as apart of her as her heart.

"Where is she?" Leshawna asks softly, while rhythmically rubbing his shoulder in comforting circles. "It's alright, just breathe," She continues with an even more nurturing voice as Alejandro's tears became hotter and faster.

"At — at the front entrance," Alejandro hiccups, quickly wiping his tears away and recomposing himself. 

"Alright, you go on your way," Leshawna gives him one last pat and turns to head towards the front entrance, before hesitatingly turning around "Oh, and Alejandro?"

The Spaniard meets Leshawna's eyes, though she is not entirely clear with his bloodshot eyes. "What?"

"I'm sorry,"

* * *

“There're no cameras on the roof, the cameras in the hallway were all turned in the other direction, dead or damaged around the time she fell and no one was seen coming up or down the stairs, and jumping off buildings is a really common—” An authoritative voice droned on as Alejandro quietly crept up the stairs, unsure if his presence would end the conversation abruptly. 

“What are you saying, Officer?” A middle-aged man interrupts one of the three officers with him. He was currently listening to their final stance on the mysterious and out of the blue death of Heather Hampton, a senior at the very school he was in charge of. 

“She must have committed suicide, McLean; there’s no other explanation.”

Shaking his head, Principal McLean frowns, refusing to believe the officer. “But Heather Hampton had everything a teenage girl could want — popularity, money, a boyfriend…”

“Listen, Chris,” A second cop interrupts the Principal. “I ain’t no psychologist, but my wife is, and I’d be damned if she was wrong about this type of shit. She says that just because someone has all the things they could possibly want doesn’t mean that they aren’t depressed. Status doesn’t mean anything to the mind; mental illness affects everyone, whether you think so or not. However, I am a damn good cop, and I’m tellin’ ya — there are no suspects, no murder weapon, or solid evidence of any kind that the girl was murdered, so Heather Hampton’s death is finalized as suicide, aight?”

“Damnit, this is gonna be awful for the school!” The man mutters. “Now the higher-ups of the school district will blame _me_ for Hampton’s suicide because I fired the school counselor back in October — not my fault she was horsing around with some Sophomore during her break! And it's also not my fault that the new counselor is some trashbag who says _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ is the meditation for the soul! Jeez, couldn’t she have waited until college to kill herself? Would’ve been better for the school… so damn selfish....”

The officers eyed both each other and the Principal, unsure what to say. As disgusting as his words were, it was to be expected of Principal McLean, who had somehow managed to retain his job despite his nasty reputation of being egotistical and indifferent. 

"If it helps, though, we can run an autopsy and double-check the cause of death, but it seems pretty case open'n'shut to me."

Principal McLean sighs before shaking each of the police officers’ hands, “Whatever, sure, but thanks for coming on such short notice, though, but now I’m gonna hafta make _lots_ of phone calls — it won’t be easy telling the dead girl’s parents, though,”

Before he can make his way down the stairs, though, he comes face to face with the green-eyed Hispanic he vaguely remembered stuck by Heather's side like glue. With Chris' luck, he figured he'd have to have the first dreaded conversation of the afternoon with the second-worst option, right after her parents — the boyfriend. God, anybody but the boyfriend he'd rather take. 

"Er, I'm so sorry for your loss, José —" 

"I just heard you insult my dead girlfriend, don't even bother," Alejandro mutters with a swift roll of his eyes. "And José is my brother, come on!"

"Oh, right..." Chris mumbles, "... Alejandro?" He phrases the name as a question, still unsure if he had the right name — or had Alejandro graduated six years ago, and standing before him was Carlos. 

"Now, who's behind all this?" Alejandro questions, "Who did this to her?" 

"It seems she did this to herself," Chris explains, and to his credit, he did look somewhat remorseful — though Alejandro was unsure if it was actual human decency shedding through the man or if it was his years of acting taking effect. Alejandro released a breath he was unaware he had even been holding, but not in satisfaction. "Now if you'll excuse me..." Chris mumbles some type of bullshit excuse Alejandro didn't bother to pick up on as he pushes past him, leaving Alejandro up on the roof alone, staring down at the tragedy below him. 

As he gazed down at the corpse and crowd below him, the sentence McClean had spoken without a probably swam in his head; _Heather Hampton killed herself._ The Queen Bee knocked herself off of her own throne; she hadn’t died because of a melodramatic cause, similar to a television show, but instead had leaped off a building and wouldn’t ever be given another thought now that the police ruled her death as a suicide. 

A slight chill in the air lingered as the roof became more sinister than it once was. 

* * *

The seventh period Math class in Room 121 was unusually quiet as they stared at their laps, their desks, the ceiling, or floor — anything but each other. The low _tick-tocking_ of the clock seemed to mock the group of students as the events of the day settled in.

“The staff has to attend a meeting in regards to the… _incident_ that happened earlier today,” Mrs. Grace, the elderly teacher explains at the front door. “There won’t be a sub present; I hope you’re all mature enough to know not to be disrespectful during a time like this.” 

Before leaving the room, Ms. Grace gives the class one final sad yet oddly encouraging smile. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Turning on her heel, the teacher closes the door with a _Click!_ , leaving her students all by themselves in the empty classroom, surrounded by each other and their bleakest thoughts. 

“Has anyone found out what actually happened?” Cody Anderson asks with a voice just above a hushed whisper, afraid that such a question would be scolded, but it unsurprisingly wasn't as the entire class was themself. 

The majority of the class shakes their head a simple ' _No_ ', but Alejandro's voice sounds a hundred years old when he speaks; "They say..." He trails off, stopping to clear his throat before continuing, "They said she killed herself. Leaped off the rooftop, I mean,"

Small gasps echo throughout the otherwise silent classroom, as they began to process what Alejandro himself was still struggling to take in himself. 

"Wait, but Heather's never shown any symptoms of depression or suicidal thoughts," Trent mutters aloud. "And she somehow always found a way to brag about how she doesn't need to take any pills since she was perfectly healthy—" 

"Maybe she was undiagnosed?" Beth suggests half-heartedly. 

"You guys know how my mom's a child psychologist, right?" Bridgette asks, but before anyone can answer, she rushes into her point. "Well, she used to lend me her old psychology textbooks since I wanted to be a psychologist, too, but depression is like... a mask. Someone who could look well put together and happy can be suicidal — someone who looks like they're on the brink of collapsing can be perfectly happy. So what I'm saying is, Heather may not have wanted to tell us she was depressed and that's fine, but just don't assume, you know?" 

"No," Courtney mutters, before repeating the word again but in a louder and more desperate voice, as if her arguments were the very thing from blocking the truth from her mind. "No, you're wrong! All of you!" Courtney repeats with a small smile that grows into an amused laugh, her tears still cascading down her cheeks. Her classmates stared in awed silence, unsure how to process it — Courtney never cried, after all, and on the same day that she cried in front of everyone, she also seemed to be losing her grip on reality, too. 

"Has she lost it?" Eva mutters to the person next to her but doesn't elaborate once she realizes she was talking to Izzy. 

"Heather Hampton wasn't fucking _depressed!_ " She attempts to laugh it off, but it's hollow and incredibly unconvincing as her smile begins to slip away as her eyes grow in a panic. "She clearly would have had her reasons not to tell you she was depressed — _if_ she was depressed, I mean, but we have a little something called a basis of _trust_ and _respect_ for one another, and I haven't kept a _single_ secret from her, and she hasn't kept one from me —"

"Well, maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought you did," Noah mutters, always one to play devil's advocate. 

Courtney whips her head around to Noah's direction, and by the look on her face, it was clear that if you stabbed her, it would hurt less. 

"Now you listen here, Mr. Dipshit —" 

"Court, I think it's best if you get outta here for a breather," Duncan mutters to her and moves to grab her hand before she slaps it away. 

"Knock it off, Duncan!" She snaps, a scowl etching her lips. "Look, I know you're only being nice because you pity me, and it'll all go back to normal in a few weeks, but I don't _want_ your pity. So just go back to annoying us all like the nuisance you are!" 

For a moment, a look of surprise and something similar to hurt flashes on his face, but as soon as it appeared, it disappeared and was replaced with indifference. 

"Fine, be like that all you want," Duncan says stiffly, returning to his seat without another word before pulling out his infamous pocket knife and branding his desk with yet another engraving. Everyone is silent for a moment, only the occasional scratches of Duncan's pocket knife filling the room. After a moment, Courtney herself storms out of the room while frantically wiping away her tears, the door shutting with a loud bang. Bridgette moves to follow after her, but DJ grabs her wrist before she can make it out the door. 

"Just leave her alone for now," He whispers, "Let her come to it on her own,"

"I just can't believe she's been mocking us this entire time when she was suicidal herself," Cody mutters, and just like that, he had garnered the attention of everyone in the room again. "Like..." Cody trails off, but instead shapes his lips in a small O — if he could whistle, he'd be whistling a low and steady one. 

"Maybe there's a psychological reason?" DJ suggests but Justin shakes his head.

"Um, hello? Or maybe she was just a sadistic she-demon?" He points out, never one to read the room right.

Everyone ignores Justin's obliviousness and indifference — after years of experiencing his self-adoration and lack of acknowledging the others, they had grown accustomed to it — but instead falls into yet another awkward silence that was mercifully broken rather quickly.

"What if Heather Hampton wasn't suicidal?" Gwen Willows asks above a whisper, her gray eyes narrowed in thought, and despite being so quiet she could barely hear herself, she had successfully captured every person in the room's attention — from hollowed-out Alejandro, disinterested Noah, and even the usually out of it Ezekiel. 

"Wait, what?" Both Cody and Sierra exclaim. Cody was willing to humor his not at all discreet crush, Gwen, meanwhile, Sierra's stare that screamed ' _Stop wasting our time_ ' glared into her — it was no secret to anyone Sierra hated Gwen for no reason except for being the only "threat" to her (already planned out, though he hadn't said yes — or proposed — yet, she knew it was bound to happen) future marriage to Cody. 

“I’m saying ….” Gwen pauses for a moment and looks to her friends, Leshawna and Trent, for encouragement, who both give her an unsure smile and nod of encouragement — though they both have no idea where the Goth was going with her speech. “I’m saying that what if Heather didn’t commit suicide? What if —”

Before Gwen can continue her theory, a loud and over-exaggerated scoff from Sierra cuts her off — though no one was surprised it came from her. “Gwen, come _on._ This isn’t TV. It was suicide; plain and simple.”

"Sierra, just hear me out—"

“What proof do you have, anyway?” Sierra spits, her eyes narrowed at Gwen. It’s taking everything in Gwen not to roll her eyes out of the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“That’s the _point,_ Sierra, that there _is_ none!” Gwen exclaims, frustrated. Surprising Sierra with her outburst, Gwen continues on before she can interrupt again. “The confirmed facts on Heather’s death are so few that there’s probably barely a full file on it all! If that's the case, there's not even enough evidence to call an investigation that she could have been murdered —”

“You’re just proving my point!” Sierra points out, but surrenders her hands in the air upon the dirty looks she was receiving. 

“If Heather was murdered, it was done flawlessly,” Gwen explains after giving a pointed glare to Sierra. “Her death is too convenient to be some simple suicide — Heather, the most popular girl at school, was secretly depressed like some _Heather’s_ shit — which is admittedly weird since they share the same name and Heather Chandler wasn’t actually depressed — and there’s no CCTV footage to show her being shoved off the rooftop. It’s too perfect to be the full story if you ask me. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Though they were all thinking it, nobody asked the question that was running through their heads aloud — the reality of the question was too much to handle. The impact of the answer — who could have killed Heather Hampton and actually go _through_ with it — would be too much to bear, too much to face; however, Bridgette sucks it up and questions the class rhetorically, who is lost in thought. Everyone is silent as they brainstorm and give a side glance at the most suspicious people, but not one person dares to say their suspicions aloud. 

"What about Leshawna?" Alejandro accuses, pointing his thumb in her direction. "I saw her right in front of the staircase leading up to the roof right after we found Heather, and it's no secret they hated each other!" 

Leshawna's shocked face turns into rage after hearing the accusations being thrown her way. "Ex _cuse_ me?" She questions, nearing her accuser. "Now just _what_ do you think you're thinking? Yeah, she hated me, and I couldn't stand her pampered ass, but I never wanted her dead! Much less kill her myself!" 

Eyes softening slightly, Leshawna continues on. “Look, I know this all hasn’t been easy on you. But do you really think someone here murdered Heather? Out of what, spite? Pettiness?”

“That doesn’t explain why you were leaving the roof,” Alejandro points out, ignoring Leshawna’s point. The two teenagers glare at each other as their classmates look between the two, unsure who made the stronger case. 

Trent awkwardly coughs and immediately grabs everyone’s attention. “For the record, me, Gwen and Leshawna sometimes head up to the roof for lunch. Leshawna probably went looking for us after cleaning up, didn’t see us on the roof, and came down at the wrong time. No biggie.”

Now with an alibi, the class looked conflicted at the argument before them until Gwen clears her throat. "Well, innocent until proven guilty, am I right?"

"Sorry about that, Leshawna," Alejandro mutters quietly. It was rather half-done, but it satisfied her. 

"Hey, it's fine," She swears sincerely. "And we'll get to the bottom of whatever happened with Heather, I promise,"  
  


* * *

Gwen took a small sip of her pitch-black coffee, eyeing her friend over the rim of her cup. Trent sat next to her, anxiously rubbing her thigh, intimidated by the amount of tension the stares between Gwen and Leshawna had. Gwen had barely blinked, expectantly waiting for Leshawna to speak. 

When she didn’t, Gwen sat her cup down and crossed her arms. “So, are you going to tell us where you were at lunch or are we going to have to force it out of you?”

“I can’t believe you two are accusing me of murder!” Leshawna hissed quietly, exasperated at her friends. “I’ve never lied to y’all and _now_ you think I’d start?”

The three were sitting in a small booth in their local café, Bittersweet, a quaint coffee shop and bakery owned by one of their classmates, DJ’s, moms. School had ended just twenty minutes ago, and the three were already situated in their usual booth, which was tucked away in a corner of the store where barely anyone else sat, an exceptional place for their hushed conversations not to be overheard from their classmates or nosey passerbys. A jazz vinyl hummed softly as the people of Wawanakwa settled into light conversations in the area. Bittersweet was the place to be for the residents of the town — many birthdays, celebrations, dates, and just quick meals were hosted there, and the students of Wawanakwa High were no exception — Gwen, Trent, and Leshawna included. 

“Leshawna—” Trent began softly but was interrupted by the other’s scoff.

“Not you, too!” Leshawna groaned. “What, you defend me in front of everyone but accuse me in private? What friends you are!” 

“Well, only your friends are allowed to accuse you of murder, right?” Trent cracked a small smile, and for a second, Leshawna returned it before Gwen cleared her throat.

“This is touching, but seriously, what is going on?” Gwen pleaded. “Listen, you’re the most honest person I know but we _need_ the straight-forward truth,”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. For as long as anyone could remember, Leshawna Owusua hadn’t ever spoken anything but the truth. Once she had learned Santa and the Easter Bunny were fictional, within the next week the rest of her grade was met with the unfortunate truth. She was well-known for taking no bullshit, and even if Leshawna hated the truth, she still preached it. Even her greatest adversaries, such as Heather, could trust her to tell the truth.

“I told you, I was just cleaning up while Alejandro found me—”

“Bullshit,” Gwen spat, effectively cutting Leshawna off. “Alejandro may have been dumb enough to fool, but even if you were cleaning, it wouldn’t take as long and it didn’t involve going on the roof. So just cut it out already and just tell us what you were doing!”

Leshawna avoided her friends’ gazes and instead opted to study the biscuit in front of her. She hadn’t eaten most of it, her appetite had disappeared when her interrogation had begun ten minutes ago.

Finally, she meets their anxious and awaiting eyes. Trent’s soft green eyes were nothing short of worried, and Gwen’s gray eyes were narrowed, awaiting Leshawna’s explanation.

“Fine,” Leshawna sighed. Gwen sat up straighter, now interested in her response. “For the record, I was being honest about the cleaning thing, but I didn’t want to include why I was heading to the roof—”

“No shit,” Gwen muttered into her coffee mug, taking a sip, but allowed Leshawna to continue.

“—But the truth is, I was going to do it. I was… I was going to jump off.”

The cheesy jazz music continued softly, almost mockingly, as the gravity of Leshawna’s words hit them. Trent’s jaw was slack, his eyes wide with concern, and Gwen’s indifferent attitude from moments ago had vanished in an instant. Leshawna wouldn’t meet either of their eyes, ashamed of what she had just done.

Gwen had leaped out of her seat and was already hugging Leshawna fiercely, something Trent was quick to follow. “Leshawna… I’m _so_ sorry. I honestly had no idea; I know I always bug you with my own shit, but you know you can unload whenever — and if you didn’t know that before, you know it now…”

Both Trent and Gwen continued to blab in her ear about their undying support, but all Leshawna could do was hug back and comfort them that she was fine. In truth, Leshawna felt as if she was going to be sick right there and then in Bittersweet. 

After all, she had just spoken the first lie in her entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have most of the next chapter written, and most of the next few chapters leading up until the funeral planned as well. I have no idea when I'll write next because let's be honest — writing is just a hobby for me, one of my MANY hobbies. I won't pressure myself to write. Unless I publish a chapter that's actually a note saying I've ditched a story, you can assume it's still in my head. I just get incredibly busy and stressed and writing isn't my first or even seventh priority. 
> 
> Regardless of the long wait, I do hope I can get more writing done, and that that writing is writing myself and my few readers enjoy. Thank you for sticking here with me, it means more to me than I could possibly describe. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is; chapter one rewritten (so much better, in my opinion)! Next chapter will be everyone’s immediate reactions to the death of the beloved Queen Bee; some of them might seem suspicious, but theorize to the content of your heart! Let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> I know that I write some characters stiffly — I am so sorry Alejandro :") — but I'm trying to work on it! Any and all feedback is super appreciated. 
> 
> Love as always <3


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